


Extra Noodles

by duskblue



Series: Irondad Bingo 2019 [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (no actual needles in this story), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Doctor Bruce Banner, POV Tony Stark, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is afraid of needles, Sick Fic, Sick Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony panics, this is mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskblue/pseuds/duskblue
Summary: Peter is staying with Tony while May is out of town. Unfortunately, Peter doesn't feel the best, so Tony is on a mission to figure out what's wrong so he can take the best possible care of him. He enlists his good friend, Bruce Banner in this task.This is done for my Iron Dad Bingo prompt: Sick Fic





	Extra Noodles

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda sorta a sequel to my previous bingo story "A Needed Distraction," but it can definitely be read on its own, no problem. 
> 
> Come bug me on tumblr: [duskblue-art](https://duskblue-art.tumblr.com/) !!

Tony notices something is off about Peter the second he climbs into his car after school on that Friday afternoon. His first tip off is when Peter turns down ice cream. Then he realizes that Peter has been unusually quiet.

“What’s wrong, kid?” he asks, glancing over at Peter from the driver’s seat. “I have never once heard you turn down ice cream. How is it possible you don’t want ice cream?”

“I’m okay, just really tired,” Peter says, turning a little so he can rest the side of his head against the headrest. “Haven’t really been sleeping very well,” he adds, his eyes now closed.

“Okay, you rest,” Tony says, turning back to the road to really think about what’s happening. He of course keeps a close eye on Peter’s time in the suit, and overall, it’s been way down the whole week. He figures it has something to do with midterms, but the kid has never been this sleepy after exams before. Maybe they were especially hard? Nah, the kid is practically a genius. No way he spent all night spazzing out over exams.

So they spend the rest of the way to the compound in silence, Peter sleeping while Tony drives. When he finally pulls into the underground parking area and kills the ignition, Peter is still out like a light. He reaches over and gently brushes away a lock of hair that has fallen over Peter’s eyes. His fingers touch Peter’s skin, and he pauses, noticing how warm the kid is. In a panic, he puts his whole palm on Peter’s forehead.

“Shit,” he says. The kid is burning up. No wonder he turned down ice cream and wanted to sleep the whole way there. “Hey, hey,” Tony says, gently patting Peter’s cheek. “Rise and shine. We’re here. Are you with me, Pete?”

Peter’s eyes flutter open. They’re glossy and unfocused, and he definitely looks like he’s sick. “We’re here?” he mutters, lifting his head off the headrest with effort.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t feel well, huh?” Tony says. “You’re burning up. I need to get you to bed. Then we’re going to give you some of that super tylenol to bring your temperature down.”

“I feel fine,” Peter insists, turning away from Tony and rubbing at his eyes. “I want to work on my new web formula. You promised.”

“I made that promise to a Peter who wasn’t about to fall over with a fever.” Tony gets out of the car and then walks around to Peter’s side, opening the door and grabbing the kid’s backpack from the floor of the car. “You can work on your new formula when you feel better. Okay?”

Peter cuddles back into the seat. “Okay, just leave me here,” he mumbles.

“No, no,” Tony says, grabbing his wrist and giving it a gentle tug. “Come on. You’ll feel much better if you get into your bed. I promise.”

Peter groans and resists a little, but finally allows Tony to pull him out of the car and lead him through the compound to where his room is located within Tony’s private suite. Once there, he practically collapses on his bed in a heap. Tony pulls off his sneakers and confirms the fever with FRIDAY before he hurries off to gather everything a sick spider-kid would need. First, he rushes to the medicine cabinet to collect Peter’s souped up tylenol, and then to the kitchen, where he grabs a straw as well as a can of ginger ale from the fridge. When he arrives back to Peter’s room, the kid is once again out like a light.

He pops the top of the ginger ale, and it’s loud, but Peter still doesn’t stir. So Tony inserts the straw and then sits down on the edge of Peter’s bed. “Hey,” he says, rubbing Peter’s back in hopes to wake him. “Wake up to take your medicine, and then you can go back to sleep.”

Peter groans and rolls over, blinking his eyes at Tony. 

Tony doesn’t wait for him to reply and presses the pill between his lips. Then he presents the straw to Peter. “Swallow.”

Peter frowns at him, but takes the straw in his mouth and swallows the pill. “What if I didn’t want that?” he says, his eyes still narrowed at Tony.

“Oh, shut up,” Tony says, patting his head. “I’m responsible for you till May gets back from her trip. And I’m pretty sure she’d want you to take your meds since you have a fever. You still wanna argue with me?”

Peter grabs the can of ginger ale and sits up a little in bed. After he takes a long drink, he looks at Tony. “No.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Don’t drink so fast or you’ll make yourself sick.” He confiscates the can from Peter before he can drink down the entire thing. “You wanna put a movie on? Or go back to sleep? If you’re hungry, I can get you some soup or something. Whatever you want.”

Peter blinks his eyes at him slowly like he’s trying to process this information. “Whatever I want?”

“Within reason,” Tony adds. “You’re sick, so your food choices are limited. What does your aunt give you when you’re sick?”

“Soup,” Peter replies, reaching for the ginger ale again. “The broth with the tiny noodles in it. You know that one? Only she always adds extra noodles. The tiny little rings. And soda crackers.”

“You got that, FRIDAY?” Tony asks his AI.

“Yes, boss,” she replies.

“And add anything else that would be on the list for sick kids. Put a rush order in. I want it by six.”

“Of course, boss.”

Peter hands him back the empty can. “I’m not really hungry right now. That was really good soda though. Can I have more of that later?”

“Sure thing, bud.” Tony sets the can on the nightstand and then looks back to Peter. “Any of your friends sick at school? And didn’t you say you haven’t been sick since the spider bite?”

Peter shivers and pulls his blankets up. “No, no one’s been sick that I know about. I did save some kids in a fire at the hospital about a week ago though. I don’t know what was wrong with them, but maybe they had something contagious? And this is the first time I’ve been sick since the spider bite. I used to get sick all the time. Colds, the flu, anything that was going around. I always got it. So I guess this isn’t too bad.”

“You’ll probably get over this in no time,” Tony says, giving him a small smile. It’s probably the beginning of some cold that’s been going around school. Peter will wake up tomorrow, and it will probably have already worked its way through his system. “So what will it be? Movie or nap?”

Peter’s eyelids are already starting to droop. “Nap, I guess.”

“You let me know if you need anything else, okay? Promise?”

Peter’s eyes fall shut. “Mm hm,” he mumbles.

Tony places his hand on Peter’s forehead again. His skin feels just as hot as before, but then again, he didn’t really give the meds a chance to work. “FRIDAY, temp?”

“Still 101.2, boss.”

Tony removes his hand and quietly exits the room. Once the door is closed, he instructs Friday to keep him posted on any changes in the kid’s temperature as well as to let him know if he needs anything at all. He doesn’t exactly trust Peter to ask for him if he actually does need help. Which is incredibly frustrating. 

So Tony worries. He worries while he spends his time filling in both May and Pepper about the new developments. Once both women are assured that he has everything under control, he phones Bruce. After all, he wants to be prepared just in case he doesn’t actually have it under control.

“What’s up, Tony?” Bruce says.

“Hey, buddy. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. Figures you’d be away this weekend.”

There’s a pause. “What’s going on? You better just tell me. You know I hate guessing games.”

Tony sighs. “Peter’s sick.”

“He’s sick? Sick like he has a cold or sick because he got stabbed again? I’m giving a lecture in the morning, but I guess if I left now, I could theoretically get back in time—”

“No, no. He didn’t get stabbed. God, no. He’s got a fever, but he doesn’t seem to be congested or anything. I gave him one of those super tylenol pills we concocted for Cap a few years ago. He’s taking a nap now. Friday is monitoring the fever. When I first checked it was 101.2, but last I heard it had gone down to 100.6.”

“That’s good,” Bruce says. “That means the drug is working. Sounds like he’s going to be fine. Just make sure he gets plenty of fluids and try to get him to eat some bland stuff. Soup and toast. That kind of thing. He’ll probably be feeling better in no time.”

“Okay, I got this,” Tony says, more to assure himself than Bruce. “I already have FRIDAY placing an order for some food and stuff, and there are about twenty tylenol pills left in that bottle. We should probably make some more when you’re back. Just in case.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Just remember that he gets one pill every twelve hours. And please don’t call it tylenol. That’s a brand name, Tony. We’re going to get sued if you say that to the wrong person.”

“Pfft.” Tony rolls his eyes and places his arm over the back of the couch. “You think I care? I’ll call it whatever I damn well please. And if I have to pay for it, oh well.” He pauses. “Maybe I’ll buy that company. Then I can say it all I want.”

“Whatever,” Bruce says, clearly uninterested. “Look, let me know how he is in the morning. If I need to, I can fly back after the lecture. Or if things get really bad, you can send the quinjet for me. There will be a lot of disappointed guests at the conference, but I’m thinking it’s worth it to keep your spider-kid healthy.”

“Damn right it is,” Tony says. “I’ll keep you posted. Thanks, Bruce.”

After Tony disconnects the call, he peeks in on Peter who is still sleeping soundly, and then he settles back down in the living room. He wants to go to his lab and lose some time there until Peter wakes up, but he also wants to be close by just in case the kid needs him, so instead, he turns on the television and pretends to watch whatever is on.

He’s still flipping through channels an hour later when FRIDAY alerts him that the delivery has arrived. He runs to the front door to grab the groceries, and then busies himself by putting things away in the kitchen. He’s just about to stick the boxes of soup into a cabinet when FRIDAY alerts him again.

“Boss, Peter is awake and appears to be in pain, though he says he’s fine and doesn’t need anything. I relayed to him that I was required to inform you, per protocol.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Tony jumps up, leaving the TV on and racing to Peter’s room. He gives a courtesy knock before opening the door and walking in. 

When he sees Peter sitting up in bed, bent over and holding his head in his hands, Tony rushes over to him and sits down beside him, sliding a hand across his back and then rubbing his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Pete? Does your head hurt?”

Peter leans into him, tucking his head under Tony’s chin. “I was fine until I got up to go to the bathroom. When I stood up, my head started throbbing. This headache is weird. It kind of feels like the one I got after the spider bite. Like, a deep ache all over.”

“FRIDAY, update on Peter’s temperature,” Tony says.

“Peter’s temperature is down to 99.8, boss. It appears that the fever reducer medication is working.”

“Then what’s with the headache?” Tony asks to no one in particular. He rubs Peter’s arm and thinks about what he should do. “You think you could eat some soup, buddy? Maybe you need to get something in your stomach.”

Peter hesitates. “I don’t know. Maybe some crackers? And more ginger ale, please.”

Tony pries Peter’s sticky hands off of his shirt, and then tucks the kid back into bed before he rushes back to the kitchen to make some soup. 

“FRIDAY, get Bruce on the line again,” he says while he fills a pot with four cups of water, just like the recipe calls. 

“Peter okay?” Bruce answers instead of the usual hello.

“Now he’s got a headache.” Tony turns on the burner until it clicks and then turns it down a little. “What does that mean? Is he getting sicker? Does he have some sort of weird spider illness I don’t know about? He told me that the headache felt the same as the one he got after he got bit by that spider, Bruce. I need you to tell me what that means so I can fix it.”

“Okay, first of all, calm down,” Bruce says. “You’re not doing him any good by having a panic attack.”

Tony frowns. “I’m not having a panic attack,” he mutters, even though now that Bruce mentions it, this kind of does feel a little like the start of a panic attack.

“Take some deep breaths,” Bruce says, unconvinced. “I’ll wait.”

Even though Tony doesn’t want to admit that his friend is right, he does his best to breathe slowly while he stands in front of the stove, staring down at the water and listening to the slight hum of the gas burner. 

“You okay now?” Bruce says after about a minute.

Tony grabs the box from the counter and dumps in the noodles. “Yeah. So go ahead. Tell me what to do.”

“Well, it sounds like he has some sort of viral illness,” Bruce says. “Fever, headache, no outward signs of an infection. You can ask him if he has a sore throat. If he does, you might want to get him tested for strep. In that case, he would need some antibiotics. If he doesn’t, then just keep doing what you’re doing. Lots of fluids, bland food, and lots of rest. He’ll be better soon.”

“I’m making him some soup now.” Tony grabs a small bag of tiny ring noodles and dumps a bunch of them in the pot, too. “But what can I do for his headache? He can’t have another dose of the super tylenol until about five AM.” 

“Sometimes cold helps. Maybe in his case, you should put a cold washcloth on his forehead. If that doesn’t work, try an ice pack. Just be sure to wrap it in a towel first. And don’t leave it on for more than twenty minutes at a time. Otherwise, call me back, and I’ll try to think of something else.”

Tony stirs the seasoning into the water. “Thanks, Bruce. I’ll try not to call. You should get some sleep.”

“You’re welcome. And I’ll try. I hope Peter feels better. Goodnight, Tony.”

Tony says goodbye and then impatiently stands in front of the stove, waiting for the soup to be done. He’s set a timer, but time is going insanely slow. Instead of waiting any longer, he turns the burner down a little and then hurries to the bathroom to get a washcloth and run some cold water over it. He squeezes it out and then returns to Peter’s room. 

Peter is on his side with his arm over his head, still in obvious pain.

“Try this,” Tony says, nudging his arm away and placing the cold washcloth on Peter’s forehead. “Is that better?”

Peter rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. “A little.”

“Good.” Tony brushes his hair back from the washcloth. “Soup is almost done. I’ll be right back. Tell Friday if you need me, okay?”

“Mm hm.”

Once he’s sure Peter is comfortable, Tony rushes back to the kitchen just in time to stop the pot from boiling over. There’s still a minute left on the timer, though, so he waits it out by finding a tray and a nice big bowl, along with a spoon. He quickly turns the burner off and scoops a little soup into the bowl. He’s halfway to Peter’s room with the tray when he realizes he’s forgotten the crackers and the ginger ale, so he races back. Once he’s thrown a stack of crackers onto the tray and grabs a ginger ale from the fridge, he starts back on his journey.

Peter sits up when he sees Tony walking in with the tray, the washcloth falling to his blankets. Tony sets the tray in Peter’s lap and then grabs the washcloth, setting it on the nightstand and promptly forgetting about it.

Peter’s eyes widen when he looks down at the soup. “That’s a lot of noodles, Mr Stark.”

Tony blinks at him. “You said extra noodles. Are those the wrong kind?”

“No, they’re the right kind. It’s just a _lot_ of noodles. But don’t worry, I love the noodles,” he quickly adds and then reaches for the spoon. “Thank you for making me soup.”

“You’re welcome, kid. Just don’t go overboard. I’d really like it if those noodles stayed in your stomach.”

“This is good!” Peter says, going back for a second spoonful. “It tastes just like May’s. Except… more noodles.” 

Tony smiles and pats him on the back.

The night goes fairly well after that. Peter picks the movie and then falls asleep halfway through it. When Tony finally turns the television off and moves to get out of bed, Peter’s eyes blink open and he tugs on Tony’s sleeve.

“Can we watch another movie?” he asks, his eyes big and round and reflecting the light from the lamp on the nightstand back at Tony. 

It’s impossible to tell him no, so Tony climbs back into bed beside him. “Sure, kid. What do you want to watch this time?”

Peter just smiles sleepily and leans his head back on Tony’s shoulder. “Your turn to pick.”

Tony does what Peter wants and picks a movie. He’s highly suspicious that the kid just doesn’t want him to leave the room, but he’s willing to play along. And when Peter falls asleep within the first fifteen minutes of the movie, his suspicions are confirmed, but he doesn’t really care. Instead he spends some time sending off a few emails from his phone and giving both Pepper and May an update, along with a photo of Peter sleeping against his shoulder. 

~*~

The next thing Tony remembers is getting elbowed in his ribs. He rolls over onto his side and away from the offending elbow while he tries to catch the breath that was knocked out of him. When he opens an eye, he notices it’s still night time.

“I’m sorry, Mr Stark!” a sad voice says from behind him. 

Tony coughs a little and then carefully rolls back onto his back. “FRIDAY, what time is it?”

“It’s ten after four, boss,” FRIDAY replies just as Tony’s eyes meet Peter’s.

“What were you doing, kid? Trying to kill me?”

Even in the dark, Tony can see Peter’s hair sticking up in every possible direction. “My back itched. I was trying to reach it. I’m sorry! I guess I was half asleep.”

Tony scootches up in bed, raising himself up to a sitting position. His ribs are still hurting, but they’ll heal. There will probably be a bruise, but it’s nothing compared to injuries he’s had in the past. “Turn around. I’ll scratch your back.”

Peter quickly complies, and Tony starts scratching over the kid’s t-shirt. Then he notices that Peter is scratching his arms, too, so he stops. 

“Wait a second,” Tony says, grabbing the hem of Peter’s shirt and pulling it up. “FRIDAY, turn on the lights.”

When the lights flicker on, Peter is looking over his shoulder at him, and Tony can see that he’s completely covered in a rash. Red spots are covering his back, arms, and there are even a few on his face. “ _Peter!_ ” Tony cries, lowering the shirt. “What is going on with you?!”

Peter looks down at his arms and then back at Tony. “I think I have a rash.”

“FRIDAY, call Bruce again. This time a video call,” Tony says, pointing to the pillows and signaling to Peter that he should lie down again. “This is not a good development. I need some advice.”

They listen to the phone ringing a few times, and then a tired Bruce Banner finally picks up. “What is it now?” he asks, not sounding fully awake. They can barely see him on the screen of Peter’s television because it’s so dark in his hotel room.

“Bruce, look at Peter. He’s covered in a rash.”

There’s some shuffling on the screen, and then there’s a click and the bedside lamp turns on. Bruce is fumbling for his glasses and then blinking at them. “A rash? What kind of rash? Where is it?”

“Probably all over,” Tony says. “Take off your shirt so he can see, Peter.”

Peter hesitates and scratches at his side. 

“No, no. No scratching. You’ll only make it worse. Come on, Pete, he’s a doctor. He needs to look at the rash.”

Peter sighs and lifts his shirt up over his head, and that’s when Tony realizes how covered in spots he really is. 

Bruce’s eyes widen on the screen. “Oh, shit! He’s definitely got chickenpox!”

“What?” Tony says, leaning away from Peter. “The chicken pox? Aren’t kids supposed to be vaccinated against that these days?”

“Don’t get me started on that topic,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. “It’s too early in the morning. Peter, do you know if you got all your vaccinations?”

“Um, I thought I did. Only… well, you see, I was sick a lot when I was little. Sometimes when May brought me in, I was too sick to get my shots. Then, maybe she forgot to bring me back, or got too busy. I didn’t really remind her because...I kind of hate needles.” 

Bruce deadpans. “I remember. Anyway, it’s too late now. Though we should really find out what vaccines you still need. I’m not sure how your body would process them these days, but I kind of think it’s important to keep you healthy. For your sake. And for Tony’s. Clearly.”

Tony grabs Peter’s wrist when he reaches to scratch again. “Well, great. Now what do we do?”

“Really nothing that you’re not doing already. Just add no scratching to your list,” Bruce says. “FRIDAY, what’s Peter’s temperature?”

FRIDAY replies,” It’s 101.5, Dr Banner.”

“Give him another one of those pills, Tony. It’s about time, anyway. Five, you said?”

“Yeah, five,” Tony says, putting his arm around Peter to keep him from scratching. The kid is getting wiggly. “How long is this supposed to last, anyway? And when can he go back to school?”

“Well, it usually runs its course in about a week, but with him, it might be a little faster. Generally, once the rash has scabbed over, he shouldn’t be contagious anymore. Speaking of contagious, have you had chickenpox, Tony?”

Tony freezes, blinking at Bruce’s image on the screen.

“Oh, great,” Bruce says, sounding exasperated. “I’ll get on the first plane back after my lecture. This is going to be really fun. Goodnight, Tony. Goodnight, Peter. I hope you both feel better soon.”

The screen turns off, and Peter looks up at Tony, giving him a genuine smile. “Don’t worry, Mr Stark. I’ll take care of you.”


End file.
